


I just want to be Fucking, Happy?

by keyflight790



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Auditory Kink, BDSM, Bottom Harry Potter, Dirty Talk, Dom Draco Malfoy, Draco is Hate Fucking Harry, Draco is pretty full of himself, Draco's a bit mean, Dubious Consent, Filth Kink, Filthy, Happy Ending, Harry doesn't mind much, Hate Sex, Hate Sex from Draco to Harry, I really want that to be clear, I repeat, Implied Consent, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Most of the time, Orgasm Delay/Denial, POV Draco Malfoy, POV First Person, POV Harry Potter, POV switch, Plugging, Rimming, Should I say it again, Spanking, There's a lot of the word Fuck too, They don't establish good practices until chapter three, Top Draco Malfoy, Virginity, but does have a, but one chapter, draco is pissed, dry fingering, has, hate with a happy ending, mentions of dark mark, more tags to come, scar kink, so keep that in mind, this is not fluffy, this is super angry sex on Draco's part, use of derogatory language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-01-25 22:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/pseuds/keyflight790
Summary: You saw me the first night, you fucking prick. A nod and a smile across the dance floor and then you turned right back to those sluts, the ones who are practically begging to get on their knees for the Chosen One.Not me, Potter.I want to make you filthy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/gifts).



> Thank you to diligent-thunder and Dewitty1 for beta-ing this hatefest! I apologize in advance to anyone who didn't read the tags, and came here expecting something fluffy and fun. This is not that.
> 
> LQT I wrote this after binge-reading 20ish of your fics (specifically your Charlie/Bill OMG) and I wanted to write you something. This came out. Draco makes no apologies.

I see you at the club again.

Shouldn’t be surprised, it’s queer night after all and you’re top of the tower already. Just came out after your messy breakup with the girl Weasley, still so green to what it all means, to want a man to dance with you, or kiss you, or Merlin, fuck you.

I wonder if anyone’s had you proper yet. It’s only been a few weeks, but you’ve been here enough, face so recognizable that you could pull anyone in this godforsaken room just from that scar alone.

You head to the loos, and I watch. Of course I watch. Everyone in the club is watching that arse, dying to know what’s under those tight jeans.

You saw me the first night, you fucking prick. A nod and a smile across the dance floor and then you turned right back to those sluts, the ones who are practically begging to get on their knees for the Chosen One.

I thought that would make you sick, the way the men fawn all over you, but you don’t seem to mind. Happy enough to shoot them a smile and offer a dance. Fucking slag.

The bartender signals me, and I toss back my drink, nodding for another. The whisky burns, but I don’t care. The fire in my throat keeps me alert, heightens my senses. I'm ready.

Tonight, Potter. Tonight I’m going to make my move.

I try to wait until you return, tapping my foot against the legs of my barstool, but you’re sure as hell taking your time, aren’t you. I roll my eyes, annoyed that you don’t have the common decency to speed the fuck up with whatever you’re doing in there.

Finally, my impatience wins out. Not that patience was ever a virtue of mine. I can barely wait for dessert to be served.

It’s about time I got my dessert, isn’t it?

I swing open the door, not caring if I’m interrupting something, but you’re just washing your hands at the sink. I check under the stalls, and there’s nothing, no one zipping up their flies or dusting off their knees.

“Malfoy,” you have the audacity to murmur as you shake the water off your hands, and I smirk, aimlessly casting a drying spell.

“Magic does wonders, Potter,” I snarl. “Don’t you remember you’re a wizard?”

You shrug, like you haven’t a care in the world. And you probably don’t, rich boy with good looks, and of course that whole defeating the Dark Lord thing.

I’d hate you if I didn’t want you so bad.

“Haven’t forgotten, thanks Malfoy,” you say and _damn_. Ever since we were fourteen the way you say my name makes my cock ache. I close my eyes fiercely and try to breathe through my nose.

I want you to moan my name, Potter. I want you to scream it while you beg, on your knees, on your back. Against a wall — this wall — in this dirty bathroom, covered in jizz and spit and whatever other disgusting fluids land there.

The Boy Who Lived, covered in filth.

I want to make you filthy, Potter.

With that thought raging around in my head, I take a step forward. You don’t flinch, do you? You fucking prick. Just stand there all perfect like you have no idea what is going on. How I could defile you. How much I want to fucking _take. You. Apart._

I don’t say anything, because the words in my head are too loud, too vicious, too palpable. A Malfoy doesn’t show their hand. Not until the time is right.

Timing. It requires patience though, and as previously mentioned, I have none.

So when you let your eyes drift down my waist, I can’t help but say-

“Like what you see?”

“Maybe.”

You little  _shit._

I take another step forward, and throw a hand back and lock the door, sending up privacy spells all over the fucking place.

You just raise your eyebrow in surprise, and I can’t look at you anymore.

“Turn around.”

“Malfoy.”

"Turn the fuck around, Potter, so I can fuck you into the wall. Unless you want to pretend you don't want that, in which case you can fuck off."

 _Damnit,_  why can’t I use another word than fuck. It’s clearly on my mind, on my tongue. Oh gods, what I want to do to you with my tongue.

You shiver, throwing me a look that tells me everything I need to know, and you turn, pressing your chest and your face against the dirty fucking wall. I almost want to make you lick it, thick stripes up and down the tile just so you know who’s in control here.

It’s me.

Instead, I strip you. Not casually, not seductively. With a swish of my wrists I rip the clothes off your back. You’re not the only one who can do wandless magic you little shit.

You shiver again, and this time I think it’s from the cold. The club is hot, burning hot on the dance floor, so many bodies rubbing against each other in syncopation, but this room is cold. Especially when it’s empty like this.

That’s fine. I like watching you shiver. I want to make you do it again.

“You’re such a slut for it, aren’t you?” I say as I drag my hand down your bare back, letting my fingers dip into the crease of your arse. I cast a strident Scourgify that makes you wince nicely.

It’s a fine arse, Potter. You should be proud. I can’t wait to absolutely devour it.

Another time.

“Maybe,” you say again, except this time the shakiness isn’t just in your legs or your hands. It’s in your voice.

I grab your hips and pull them towards mine, creating a beautiful angle with your back, and  _fuck,_  even the way your spine curves turns me on.

I hate you for it.

Your cheek is still pressed against the wall, and your mouth hangs open. I shove my thumb in between your lips, and you instantly start sucking. What a little whore.

“Gods, you want this so bad, don’t you,” I grab your cock with my other hand and you moan around my thumb, your tongue lapping hungrily at it. That’s a good boy.

When I withdraw my thumb, you moan again, already so empty. It makes my cock twitch, listening to you whine. Damnit. Focus, Draco.

I plunge it into your hole, no grazing around the rim, no gentle prodding. Just my thick thumb right in there, and you buck against it, moaning your pathetic little moans.

You’re insatiable, Potter.

I twist, digging into your tight hole, and you moan again. I take pity on you, Potter, and add a little lube before withdrawing my thumb and shoving in again with two fingers.

You’re lucky that I know how to do this, find your spot after only a couple of thrusts. That’s what you get with an experienced lover such as myself.

Gods, Potter. That arse of yours. It’s practically eating my hand, your greedy little hole.

You’re so  _fucking_  tight.

“Done this before?” I ask because I need to. Gods, I need to know.

You just laugh, and  _fuck you_   _Potter_ , that will not do.

“Enough,” you finally whine, but only after I add a third finger, rough, fast, twisting in and out with the other two.

Enough isn’t _enough_  though. I’m cruel, I know, but I’m not so cruel as to take your arse for the first time here, in the loo, no matter how much my cock aches to plunge into your heat. No matter how hard I am. How good your hip feels rubbing up against me.

I take mercy on you, Potter. You can say thank you next time. Preferably on your knees with my cock on your tongue.

I curve my fingers again, finding that spot that should make your toes curl, and I press, hard. So hard that my wrist is hurting, and my other wrist is flying over your cock and I’m shamelessly grinding my dick against the solid heat of your hip.

You moan and buck and then, _and then_  you throw your head back and it rests on my shoulder, and _oh gods,_ you turn to look at me and your damn eyes are on me — all green and innocent and hungry and  _oh fuck_.

Your cock starts pulsing in my hand and you cover that filthy wall with your spunk and you moan, wanton and hungry and “Malfoy, fuck yes, Malfoy,” escapes your lips and I can’t help but buck into you. I’m pressed against your hip and one hand is in your arse, feeling it flutter and pulse and the other one is covered in your jizz and I’m coming in my pants like I’m thirteen and not twenty-five and my gods,  _Potter._

You’re gasping now, and I’m panting, but I withdraw my hands and cast a cleansing charm across my body. You’re still pressed against the wall, naked and gleaming with sweat, and your hips are still twitching, searching for my hungry hands.

I spank your arse, hard, because I want to see if you can take it.

You jump a little, and you yelp, but you don’t turn so I do it again.

And again. And again.

And soon I’m swatting your arse like it was made for it, and it’s growing pink under the swinging halogen bulbs, and I realize I want you to feel it. To feel this, my hand on your skin and the ghost of my fingers in your fucking hole and my fist tight around your cock for days.

I want you to feel me for days.

Then I leave you, breathing heavy against the wall. I release the privacy charms and I head out the door, and you’re still naked against the tile.

You’re a wizard, Potter. Figure it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's working on his patience.

It takes you three days to show up at my office.

I don’t know whether to be surprised it took so long, or surprised that you came at all.

“Malfoy,” you say after a cursory hard knock on the door.

“Potter,” I barely murmur, not looking up from my charts. I know that would drive you crazy, someone not dropping everything the second you walk into a room.

Believe me, I want to. I want to clear my desk and bend you over it and devour that greedy little hole. 

I’m working on my patience.

You just stand there, shifting from foot to foot, and I watch you out of my peripheries. Looks like someone else needs to work on their patience too.

How long would you stay still if I told you to. Would I have to tie you up to stop you from jittering around like a fucking snitch? I mentally add a bit of rope to my shopping list.

Finally, you break, and I’m frankly relieved it wasn’t me first.

“We need to talk about the other day.”

I keep writing, and I bite my lip so I don’t say something snarky. 

Well, I tried.

“Please refresh my memory, Potter,” I say, as if I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about. As if the visual of your cherry-red arse against the white tile isn’t ingrained in my mind, as if I didn’t wank onto my own tiled wall, imagining you licking it off.

_ I’m _ filthy, I know. Sod off if you don’t like it.

“You left me naked in the loo.”

“Use a spell. I don’t know why I have to keep reminding you.”

“You left me.”

“I was finished." 

I hear you huff, and fine, you pouty berk. I put down my quill and look up.

You’re furious. I can practically see puffs of smoke leaving your nostrils.

It’s adorable. I want to laugh. I don’t.

Instead I smirk. It makes you even more mad.

You raise your eyebrows, and I raise mine back. I might not have patience, Potter, but I know how to use silence. We’re in my office, and I could do this all day.

You put your hands on your hips. 

You drag them across your chest.

You tap your foot.

I’m waiting.

Finally.

“You can’t just do that and leave.”

I cock my head. “Do what?” 

Do you have the bollocks to admit what happened? To admit that you liked it?

Hands on your hips again. So predictable.

“You - you beat me off and then beat me, Malfoy.”

Hmm. 

“Now that I think about it, I suppose I do remember something like that.”

You knew I was a dick before you walked in here, Potter.

“I should hope so! Robards thinks I’m crazy, not being able to sit through a department meeting!”

48 hours later, not bad. Worth the sting in my palm and the twinge that still bites at my wrist.

Your eyes are so green. Like fucking emeralds, they glow in the shitty office light. How the fuck do you look gorgeous even in fluorescents?

I shouldn't. So I will.

“When’s your next meeting?” I ask, even though I know. It wasn’t hard to track down your weekly schedule. Your assistant is easily wooed by flowers. Thank Longbottom for the bulbs.

“Four,” you roll your eyes, and I want to smack that look off your face. All in due time. 

“Bend over.” 

You hesitate. 

I wait. I am getting good at this patience thing.

“Excuse me?” you ask, and isn’t that cute. You already forgot who was in charge.

“Bend over, Potter. I won’t ask again.”

I get it. You don’t trust me. Why would you? We  _ hate _ each other. And the last time we did this I left you with a sore arse, and maybe even a slice of your dignity.

But then, Merlin, don’t you bend. Always up for a challenge, never back down from a fight. Bloody Gryffindor.

Hands on my desk so your face is parallel with mine, and thank gods I’m still sitting so you can’t see my cock stir in my trousers. Pressing my palm to it, I shift the fabric so it’s not so bloody obvious what you submitting is truly doing to me. 

I lick my lips, and your eyes trace the tip of my tongue. You mirror my movements, letting your own tongue graze the corners of your mouth. Not today, Potter. Maybe another time I’ll feel those lips pressed against mine.

Today I remind you who’s in charge. 

It’s my office, so I lock the doors and throw up the privacy spells. I’m nothing if not a gentleman, after all.

And because I”m feeling chivalrous, I let you keep your shirt on. 

Your palms are still on the desk and your head is facing the wall, but you can hear me, feel me press up against your arse as I lean around your waist. I unbuckle your belt, letting the metal clank against each other in a warning, a chime of anticipation. The leather slides so easily from its loops, but I wrench at it anyway. I want you to feel the tug.

You bite your lip as you look back at me. Your eyes are more black already, and fuck, you really need this, don’t you Potter.

Need someone to take charge of your pleasure, remind you what a beautiful little slut you truly are.

My hands dip into the hem of your trousers and yank, sending them to the floor. Your pants follow, and you whimper. I’m not even touching you and you’re already whimpering. 

_ Good boy. _ Letting me know how much you want this. I think I’ll give you a reward.

I drop to my knees, and you gasp. I don’t do this for anyone, Potter. Certainly not half the men I take home, and definitely not in the middle of the workday. But for you, darling? For you I’d do anything.

Fuck you for that, by the way. 

Your cock is hanging between your thighs, hard and heavy, but I’m not going to touch it. Your arse on the other hand; your arse is perfection, muscular and toned from all that training in the Auror program, and for once I actually thank the Ministry for providing me with this. This delectable morsel.

You’re shaking again, so I run my fingers up and down your hips, hoping to calm you.

“You’re going to like this, Potter,” I murmur as my hands part your cheeks.

Gods, your hole is practically winking at me. Saying hello, inviting me in for tea and a biscuit.

I might as well make myself comfortable. 

You moan, loud and gravely as I lick the first stripe, from perineum to the base of your spine.  _ Oh _ , this is going to be good. I lick again, and again and you moan, and fuck Potter, you’re already bucking back.

You’re already riding my face like a filthy slag.

I smack your arse, hoping you maintain some kind of decorum, but it only makes you buck harder. A drop of pre-come falls to the floor, and if you mess up any of my paperwork, I swear to Morgana -

We’re just getting started and you’re already convulsing under my mouth. I start licking more fervantly, spanking you in between breaths, and you’re moaning again, high-pitched and eager.

So eager for it, aren’t you Potter. I could fuck you right now, and you’d be screaming my name so loud that the entire third floor could hear you.

That just won’t do. 

I pull back, giving your delectable arse another swat, and grab the quill cup from my desk. A swish of my wand transforms it into a silver plug. I coat it with lube and add a dabble of Slytherin green to the tip, just for fun. 

“This might hurt,” I murmur into your ear, biting your lobe for good measure as I work the toy in.

There’s some resistance, okay, a lot of resistance, but eventually you relax, moaning like a cat in heat as it enters you.

“Fuck,” you say and I chuckle.

“Fuck you,” you say, and I laugh louder.

Finally the plug is seated in your tight little channel. I flick my wrist.

Your eyes widen, as you mumble another “Fuck you,” the perfect chaser to my exquisite surprise.

“It’s going to stretch you out for me, baby,” I murmur into your ear, and you’re practically shaking, your hands clenching the lip of my desk. “You’re going to be gaping when I finally give you my cock.”

“Malfoy,” you growl, and if my dick wasn’t already rock hard and throbbing it would be just from hearing you say my name like that.

I flick my wand and your pants and trousers cling to your hips once more. I gave you back your clothes this time. How magnanimous of me, right?

“Go to your meeting, and then come straight to my flat. I’m not done with you.”

You stare, hard at my face, and I’m not laughing now, am I Potter. 

We’ll see if you actually show up.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to DeWitty1 for your awesome beta on this! And thank you to all of the amazing people who have commented and shared this already! My heart is as full as Harry's arse right now!
> 
> Say hi on [tumblr](https://keyflight790.tumblr.com/)! And if you're tired of waiting, I have more snarky Draco [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830370/chapters/42071534) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16671193/chapters/39092458)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He shows the fuck up.

Bloody hell.

You’re on my doorstep, and the rain is coming down hard, drenching you from head to foot.

“Why do you never use your magic.” I roll my eyes as I drag you into my flat. You’re dripping all over my Persian rug. Monster.

You don’t say a thing, and I know why. Your eyes practically black, your hair is sticking to the nape of your neck, and Potter, your cock. I could see your cock from the top of the Astronomy Tower. The way it’s pushing against your trousers is obscene.

You’re desperate. 

“Have fun at your meeting?” I ask, and you shake as I spell the rain from your skin. I add a warming charm, you’re welcome.

The dip of your head is close enough to a yes. The way your breath hitches as you walk lets me know the plug is pressing right up against that spot. 

“Oh, baby, you’re so ready, aren’t you?” I ask, and your head dips again, faster this time, and you blink slowly. So far gone and you just got here.

“Think you can wait to come on my cock?” You nod, blushing like a little schoolgirl. 

Let’s see if I can do it again.

“Your arse is so hungry for it, clinging to that plug. Imagine how good I’ll feel.”

Your mouth moves, but no words come out. 

_ Damnit _ .

“Potter, do you want my cock? I need an answer.”

You nod, quickly. 

“Words, Potter,” I say again. 

“Yes, gods, Malfoy,” you spit out, and my body fills with relief. 

“I need you to stay vocal,” I say, and I should have had this discussion before, but here we are. “Colour system. Green is go, red is stop. Yellow is a warning, got it?”

“What?” you ask, and I shake my head. I definitely should have done this earlier.

“Colour, Harry,” I say your name because I need you to focus on this. 

It works.

“Green, damnit, Malfoy, just fuck me, please,” you whine, and the  _ please _ , the  _ please _ , Potter. 

We’re still in my living room. I scan the furniture looking for a place to bend you over. The little glass table would shake, and I could make it reflective so you could watch yourself as I pound into you over and over again.

A possibility.

There’s always the fireplace. I once fucked someone against the grates, scratching their back against the hard, red brick. There’d been soot all over the floor for at least a week, and the marks on his dry skin lasted even longer. 

Been there, done that. 

The sofa was a gift from my father, some exquisite thing he bought in the South of France, a parting gift as he shoved me out onto the cold pavement after our last row. Didn’t like having a bent son, but following a egomaniac without a nose had suited him just fine. 

That’ll do.

I push you onto it, and you groan as your arse bounces off the cushions. Gods, I can’t wait to get that plug out of you, I bet you’re gaping right now.

The wait isn’t over yet though, pet. I’ve got to make you earn it first.

I begin to undress. Slowly. Oh, Potter, how slow we’re going to go tonight.

My tie slips out of its knot and your hand goes to the neck of your own shirt. I shake my head and you pause.

“I thought we were - ”

“Not yet,” I murmur as I pull the silk through my fingers. Patience, Potter. Looks like we both have that to work on.

I pull the rest of my tie from my collar, and you reach for your shirt again, and Potter,  _ Potter _ , we cannot have you breaking rules so early. 

The tsks from my tongue roll off naturally as I take your hands in my own. You barely have time to register what I’m doing before I wrap the tie around your wrists, giving the end a hard tug as it binds them together.

You arch your eyebrow, and I can clearly hear your dipshit voice, the “Really, Malfoy” hanging in the silent air.

“Yes, Potter, really,” I answer out loud. You smile. Fuck that mouth.

Soon.

My shirt’s next, and why do I always wear things with so many buttons. It takes me an entire minute to undo each one. I should just spell it off. I’m a fucking wizard too, you know, but the look in your eyes as you watch my fingers slowly reveal new bits of flesh keeps me going.

I’m starting to think you want more than just  _ this. _

The white tails of my buttondown unfurl from my trousers, and you bite your lip in surrender. Don’t do that, Potter. Don’t you dare get sappy on me. 

I can’t handle that look in your eyes so I unsheathe the rest of my skin, and  _ there _ . Right there, you see that, you fucking arse? That black stain on my arm? Look at it, you prick. 

Remember who you’re dealing with.

You stare at it, but it’s not enough. I need you to see it, really see the way the fucking snake is frozen, its mouth open in a final scream. I need you to feel how even though the rest of my body is freezing no matter where I go, my arm is searing. 

I shove it in your face. Not my finest moment, but here we are.

You pause, and then, oh fuck, oh fuck, you filthy slag, you lick it. You lick my fucking Mark like it’s an offering of sweet treacle tart.

You’re going to be the death of me.

There are worse ways to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing FANTOM-FTNOISE for betaing this chap! I love you all for showing up (soaking wet) at this fics doorstep. Subscribe to stay plugged in for all the updates.
> 
> Nope, these notes don't get better, and I blame all of you for that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's not exactly patient either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from Harry Potter's POV

I see you at the club again.

I try not to make it so bloody obvious that I’m here just to see if I can spot you. Your pompous blond hair is shining from your usual throne at the bar while you wait for your kill.

How boring that must be though, your prey crawling right to your feet. They don’t know you like I do.

I know how much you like a challenge. So I came up with this cunning little plan.

I’m trying pathetically to dance, but my hair isn’t cooperating again, and my footing is all off. No surprise there. The men circling around me help to keep my eyes off you, though, so I let them, offering a charming smile and a flirtatious wink.

It’s exhausting. I want to go, but I stay. It’ll be worth it. You’re worth it.

You’re watching me over the rim of your whisky when I finally dare to take a glance, and just the thought of your eyes on me has my cock so hard in my trousers I can barely stay standing.

I try to stay casual, offering a random shrug to the boys grinding against me, but I can’t take it anymore. I need it, _gods,_ I need something from you, anything, so I head off to the loo, hoping you’ll follow me there.

The door slams behind me, an echoing crash, and my heart is pounding so hard in my chest, and my cock is rock-hard just thinking of seeing you in here. This place is disgusting, of course it is, and I wonder if you’ve ever taken anyone in here, into the stalls or against the porcelain counter. I press my hands against the wall, wondering if you’ve ever crowded a man against it, ramming into him from behind as you take what you want.

The wall’s filthy and sticky, but so are my dreams. You’re still not here so I go and hover by the sinks, trying to be casual, as if I’m not waiting for you to push me up against something.

I’m fidgeting, I know, trying to straighten my clothes, my hair, one eye on the mirror and one eye on the door the entire time. I’m willing it to swing open, but it doesn’t.

Hurry up.

My foot taps unconsciously, but the rhythm steadies me so I tap it louder.

Still no you.

I wash my hands, just to give me something to do, and finally, _finally_ you walk in.

You, the dick who made my life an ever-living hell in school, the one who could defile me with just a look from your sodding grey eyes. The one who spat syllables at me when everyone else’s words dripped with praise.

How would you talk to me now? If I’m on my knees with your cock in my mouth? Would you praise me then?

“Malfoy,” I say, and it comes out almost like a moan, and damnit, isn’t that just a reflex from all the nights I’ve spent wanking to thoughts of you. To your poncy clothes with all those buttons and ties and zips, always looking formal.

I’m ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Fan for your beta-ness! Hope you all like this chap, I promise we're getting back to the good shit soon!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience is a virtue.

Your shirt is clinging to your chest and your trousers are tight around your hips, and your hands are in your lap rubbing against your cock as you stare at me.

It’s not enough.

I’ve bared myself to you, Potter. Standing in my living room with my clothes on the floor and my Mark on my arm and my dick pointed right at your mouth.

You look hungry, but I want you to be starving by the time I feed you my cock.

I snap my fingers and your eyes get even wider. I can hear it, that little buzzing deep within your crevice.

Oh gods, that plug might have been my best investment so far.

You bite your lip again, and something inside me snaps. As if it already hadn’t, seeing you at my door, soaking wet.

I need to claim that mouth of yours.

Punish it for the years of torment you spat at me, with your ‘Malfoy’ this and your ‘Malfoy’ that, and maybe even that little bit about the fucking curse you cast that split me in two

Gods, I want to split you in two. I want to bend you in half as I take you, hard. I want your ankles dangling next to your ears so you can watch your own toes curl as I fuck you. As I claim you, and own you and ruin the fuck out of you, Potter.

But first.

I grab those clenching fists, the ones that want to grab your cock and pull, the ones I’ve stopped you from using completely, and I tug. I tug until your head is draped off the edge of the sofa and your arse is pressed into the back cushions, and your feet are touching the wall. Even upside down you look gorgeous, Potter. Gods, I hate you.

I hate the way that mess of hair just falls back, the way your throat curves and the way your hands fall, pliant and soft below your head, almost touching my rich mahogany floors.

“Open up, Potter,” I snarl, and you have the audacity to grin, as if I’m about to feed you heaping slices of dessert instead of my cock.

“Tap three times for me to stop. Do it now, before I fill that lovely throat of yours.”

You’re ready, your fingers barely touching the floor, and you tap, three delicious times with the tip of your index finger before you open your mouth wide.

You open, oh darling, your teeth tucked between your lips and yes, you’ve done this before. This you know how to do, and that thought, that I’m not the first to claim your mouth angers me so. How dare you not come to me first, Potter, when you were right out. The things I could have taught you. I don’t want to even think of all the other slags who’ve pushed down your throat. Only me, Potter. After tonight, you’ll only remember me.

I’ll make sure of it, sweetheart.

I drag my cock around those perfect lips of yours, the tiniest beads of my want leaving a slick trail in its wake, and _fuck_.

Oh fuck you, Potter. Your tongue laps out and tastes it, tastes me right from your lips that I still haven’t touched with my own. You flick that pink tongue of yours like a snake, trying to catch more of my pleasure, and _fuck patience._

I shove my dick into your open mouth, and I wish I could say I wait for you to adjust, for you to open wide and breathe through your nose, but no. The second my cock finds sweet, wet heat in your mouth it dives, deep until it’s touching the back of your throat, and even then I push farther, deeper. I tilt my head down so I can watch as I sheathe myself in your mouth, and your throat bobs as you try to take it.

You make these beautiful gagging noises as you try to swallow, try to breathe, but I just shove harder, Potter. You took down the fucking Dark Lord, you can take down my cock. Your eyelids are snapped shut and your fists are clenched, and I don’t relent. Finally, as drops of water cluster on the tips of your lashes, you breathe, harsh and ragged through your nose.

“Good boy.” I murmur, and your cheeks darken at my praise, and I suppose a part of me wasn’t expecting that. For you to give a shit what I had to say about our little arrangement. Perhaps it’s just the lack of oxygen sliding down your throat.

“So good for me,” I say again, and your eyes open wide. Your pupils are blown, and I can barely glimpse the circle of green surrounding blackness.

Mercy, Potter. I pull out, letting the tip of my cock rest on your lips as you swallow mouthfuls of air. Your throat is bobbing as you try to gather as much oxygen as possible, and I wait. This patience thing is growing on me.

After a handful of breaths, you tilt your head back and you open your fucking mouth again. Tongue out, grazing the tip of my cock.

You want more? A Malfoy knows how to indulge.

I shove my cock back down that precious throat of yours, and this time you don’t hesitate. You lap around my length before swallowing me whole, opening the back of your throat so I can push deeper and deeper inside.

I’m so deep now, Potter. I can feel the sponginess in the back of your throat, and I can hear your gurgles as I still, forcing you to take everything I can give you.

I’m pressed so far down that when you moan, I can feel it, rumbling across the tip of my cock all the way up my spit-soaked length until the sound finally erupts out of your pretty little mouth in a desperate cry.

It takes me gripping on your thighs, my fingernails embedding themselves into your skin, for me not to come right then and there. My seed wants nothing more than to slide down your throat, but I have bigger plans for us, Potter.

Patience is a virtue, after all.

It takes all of my virtue to pull out of the tight heat of your throat and expose myself once more to the cool living room air. I can’t imagine what I look like from your position, head so close to the floor that you must feel dizzy, your spit on my cock glistening in the candlelight.

My plan didn’t involve this. When I thought about what I would do to you if you finally showed up, it certainly wasn’t this. I thought I’d put you on your knees where you belong, claim your arse and send you packing.

But now. Now I want to see your face while I fuck you, Potter. I want to see you break.

I twist you around again, and you shake your head as you’re uprighted. Your feet plant on the floor and your head leans against the back of the couch. You make such a lovely sight, still fully clothed but wrinkly and dazed. I take advantage of your temporary impairment to vanish the fabric right off your skin.

“Fuck,” you grunt in surprise as your skin is revealed, as I expose your cock to the elements of my home. It’s not a bad cock, Potter. Fine in length, certainly acceptable in girth. I could imagine it’d feel just fair shoved up into my own waiting hole. Not now, though. My plug didn’t work your arse open for the better part of the day for you to top, did it?

Besides, I want to claim that perfect cavern of yours. I want you to feel me, more than you already have, more than you’ll feel anyone else.

Now that you’re naked, Potter, I’m going to make you mine. It takes me a moment, but I maneuver myself in between your thighs, shifting your hands so they’re tethered behind your head. And then I yank, dragging your arse to the edge of my fathers priceless sofa. After pulling your ankles to the jut of my shoulders, my hands drop to the firm globes of your arse.

I spank you a couple of times just because I can, and maybe a little to calm my nerves. Finally, I let my fingers dip into your crevice, dragging the pads farther and farther down to the silver vibrating toy.

I wish I could say I pulled out that lovely little plug with finesse. Instead, I ripped it from your core while it was still buzzing, leaving your hole gaping and fluttering. You cry, loud and needy, as if you’re saddened by the loss.

Don’t worry, baby. Only a matter of time before I fill you up again.

“Colour?” I ask, more to build the anticipation than anything. I know you’re fine, Potter. Your eyes are practically dripping with want, and don’t even get me started on your cock. So red it’s almost purple, twitching as you watch my every move.

The tip of my cock presses against your hole as I wait for your answer.

“Green,” you say, and I can hear how much you’re desperate for this. How ready you are for me.

I don’t even wait until the word is out before I slide into you. My cock is so slick from your spit, and your hole is gaping and ready. I barely have to push before I’m completely inside. You’re loose, but somehow still so fucking tight, and when I’m all the way in I finally chance a look at your face.

You look like sunshine. All lit up, wide-eyed, lips parted. I can feel your heat around my cock, radiating off of you. It’s your magic that I feel, seeping out of your pores and drenching my skin. It’s intoxicating. You’re intoxicating, Potter.

“Perfect,” I murmur before I can bite back the word. I’m sure you’re always hearing it, how perfect you are at your job and with the Ministry, and that whole saving the wizarding world incident. The last thing you need from me is to tell you how perfect you are. But I can’t help it.

So I thrust, hard, fast, over and over until the rhythm begins to drive me mad, until my cock is throbbing all the way to my throat, until my own toes are curling against the hard wood of the floor. Your head is hitting the wall in fast thumps, and it’s that beat, that sound that grounds me.

Over and over I pound into you, and you take it, Merlin, Potter, you take my cock like you were made for it. Like every step of the fucked up dance we call life was purely meant to bring you here.

You’re crying, wet tears streaming down your face and your hair is stuck to your forehead, so thick I can barely see the scar. That won’t do.

I take my thumb and I graze over it, pushing those ridiculous brown strands to the left and right, exposing the harsh jagged lines that used to define you.

What defines you now, Potter? With my cock up your arse and my forehead pressed against your shoulder. Is it your panting on my neck, or the way you keep whispering, “yes, yes, _oh gods, Malfoy,_ yes,” into my ear?

Perhaps it’s the way that your cock feels in my hand, or the way I feel inside you. The way you’re clinging to me so hard I can barely move.

I shift until our mouths are so close. We’re not kissing, not really, but we’re sharing the same air, the same tempo of pants gasping from my mouth to yours. So close, I’m inside of you and I can feel you, your magic, all around me, and I'm drowning in it.

It’s then that I pull out, all the way so only the tip of my cock is in your needy little hole, and I slam, all the way back in with such force that your head hits the wall with a thud and your arse clamps down on me and you moan, loud and long and guttural.

You’re coming, oh gods, Potter, you’re coming on my cock. Thick ropes are spurting out onto your stomach, all the way to your neck, and the noises you’re making.

Whines and cries, and I can see the tears flowing freely from your eyes now as you tip over the cliff of gratification. It’s a glorious sight. You’re miraculous.

“Yes, Potter, yes,” is the only dumbshit thing I can say as I chase your pleasure with my own, and after a few more thrusts, I’m also cresting, my orgasm overcoming me like a wave off the sea. I bathe in your light as I fill you, your magic swirling around me and filling my soul.

We’re panting, you and I, our lips so close, and finally, finally Potter, I let them touch. We’re kissing and it’s like fire, smoke and ashes, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

It’s all too much and I’m falling on the couch beside you, my cock wet from my orgasm, and your hole dripping with my seed. Your chest rises and falls and your cock is soft and your skin is sticky and glossy, and it’s all too much.

I tuck my head between my thighs, and you rub my back, and it’s all too much.

“Malfoy,” you murmur. “It’s going to be okay,” you say.

This isn’t how it should be. You’re the one who should be panicking. Letting a former death-eater inside of you, what were you thinking. How dare you.

I pull away and move off the sofa, Accioing a robe from my chambers.

“You’re dismissed, Potter,” I say, and my voice is trembling, but the words come out.

You stare, aghast and naked and on my father's couch which most certainly has to be burned.

“Don’t make me say it again,” I murmur, because I’m not sure I could, even if I wanted to.

You blink, and your mouth opens, and I remember how it felt to be shoved into it, to drive home.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” you spit, and it hurts, but not as much as watching you gather your clothes and retreat out the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Shamen610 for the fab beta job!!! Added a chapter for your sodding happiness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's art for the bit below! Thank you RainSoakedHello!!! [for the gorgeous hate-fucking art!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20047579)

I wait three days.

Three more.

And then an entire week has passed.

Two.

I’ve kept busy. Not like I’m thinking about you.

I just happened to have to go to the Ministry every day last week. Just a coincidence, Potter, I can assure you. I had to bring Hermione some of those books I found at the Manor, and I couldn’t trust an owl with such rare specimens.

I burned that couch. Well, not exactly. I Scourgified the hell out of it and donated it to one of those Muggle an-tikies shops.

Father would not want to hear about that. Maybe I’ll add it in my next letter.

Besides, it’s not like I’ll need it. Haven’t been to the clubs to pull since that night. Just been busy, is all. No other reason.

_I don’t believe me either._

Obviously that night was just that. A _night_ . Not a _thing_. You forgot about fucking me as quickly as you forgot about slicing me open that time in the girls’ bathroom. Snogging girl Weasley before I was even out of hospital, as if I needed that salt rubbed into my wound.

Wonder what in the bloody hell she did to win your heart? All I did was lie to the most powerful wizard of our time to save your arse. Give you my wand. But who am I to judge?

Truth is -

I swallow. Then I down the last swirl of whiskey in one go, my finest. It’s practically a sin to drink it like this, in gluttonous gulps.

Maybe another will help.

That’s the stuff.

The truth is, Potter, I’ve been watching you for a while. Before the club. Before you were out. Before you snogged the ginger.

Doesn’t matter now, does it?

Or maybe it still does.

\----

“I need my tie, Potter.”

It’s pathetic how long it took me to come up with those five words.

I fill your office doorway, and you don’t even have the audacity to look up. How dare you? That’s my move.

Fine, be that way.

I sit down in the empty chair in front of your desk and make a show of crossing my long legs, making sure a small bit of my ankle is exposed below the hem of my trousers. Your eyes dart to it, and then back to the parchment in your hands.

Paperwork has nothing on me.

And yet, you otherwise ignore me, signing that scribble you call your name on the bottom of some document with a swish of your quill.

I wait. I’ve waited fourteen days for you to show up at my desk like this; my patience has grown exponentially. I can wait ten more minutes for you to finish up whatever the fuck you’re doing at _yours_.

“I don’t have it,” you spit but your eyes stay downcast, as if the answer to it all is written in the margins of some shoddy Ministry reports.

Of course you don’t. The great Harry Potter doesn’t hold on to mementos, no matter how important they are. You’re the same git that broke the Elder Wand in half, the same one that lost that fucking rock in the middle of the forest. No matter. I’m not really here for the bloody tie.

“Pity, I was hoping we could use it again,” I toss out like we’re talking about different flavours at Fortescue's, not me tying you to my headboard while I fuck you into the mattress.

My cock twitches in excitement. _Patience_.

This isn’t easy for me, you know? You fucking prick. I already showed you my scar, and now you want even more.

Don’t we all.

I had just wanted a fuck. It’s the truth. I wanted to have you, make you remember my name and my face and my cock in your arse the way I remember you every day when I stare at the scars on my chest. The way I had to watch as you flitted from bird to bird at Hogwarts, taking my heart with you every time.

How I’ve fucked every slag in that club wishing it was you on your knees, on your back, in the loo, on the counter. On my couch. In my bed.

And then you gave yourself to me, and I threw you out with last week's trash. And you just fucking _let_ me.

Finally, you stack the parchment on your desk, and that quill finds its home in the ink, and you raise your eyes to look at me.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” You grimace, and it feels painful this time, the way you say my name. It stings.

I want to make you sting, Potter. Putting us through this shite, when you could have just been a good boy and come back to my office again.

I want to punish you.

I want to praise you.

“I want - “ I start, trying to formulate a plan, but nothing I think of seems quite right enough. Maybe I need another two weeks to craft a line.

Instead I divert.

“How’s your arse, Potter?” because some twisted part still wants to be in control, even though I’m practically at your feet.  

“Fuck you!” Your cheeks colour, and it reminds me of your red arse that first time we -

“Mad I didn’t give you a proper goodnight kiss?” I say slyly, with a wink as though your little temper tantrum is doing nothing to me. My trousers are a little tight, is all.

“You told me to leave!” you yell, and your fists drive down on the desk. The impact jostles your ink pot, and a couple of black spots cover your precious paperwork.

Frankly, it’s what you deserve.

“Always were one to blindly follow orders,” I drawl, and it feels good. For a moment.

But then your eyes narrow and your brows furrow.

“Don’t do that,” you say, and I can feel the anger in your voice. Even sitting, you command such strength.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like we had a choice in any of it.” You grimace as you stare at the soiled parchment and flick your wrist. The ink blots disappear, leaving the pages as pristine as before. You look up again, and I wince at the intensity of your gaze. “Just like you’re pretending that night didn’t mean anything.”

It didn’t.

_Lies._

“I just wanted to fuck, Potter.” It was the truth at one point, so it rolls off my tongue without hesitation.

Silence fills your office as you stare at me, and then the corners of your mouth turn upward, and oh fuck you, Potter. You’re laughing. You’re laughing in my face.

“And I just wanted to be fucking happy.” You pause, then chuckle some more.

 _Happiness_. As if that was a realistic goal.

Although I didn’t think destroying the Dark Lord with a second-year spell was realistic either, and yet, here we are.

“You wouldn’t be happy with me, Potter.”

You laugh again, and this time I can’t handle it.

I stand up, and your eyes follow me as I hover over your desk. I lean in close, so close that our mouths are almost touching, and I can see your eyes widen and your head tilt, and you think that we’re going to kiss, don’t you?

My turn to laugh.

I draw my hand back, but you’re too busy staring at my eyes to notice, and in one quick motion I slap you hard across your precious face.

The sound reverberates throughout your tiny office, and your face is still tilted towards your shoulder. I ready myself to be hit, or punched, or tackled to the floor.

Instead, you let out a growl, starting off low and growing in volume as you bring your head back to center.

“Do it again,” you say. You lick your lips and you stare and you ask me with your eyes and the cocky tilt of your chin.

Gladly, you fucking prick.

I pull my elbow back and my hand connects with your cheek once more, except this time you’re ready. Your head jerks to the left, but your eyes stay wide, focused on me.

“Again,” you say, and I can already see the bloom of red painted on your face.

You look gorgeous, Potter. Eyes blown and the outline of my hand stretched across your cheek. I’m tempted to backhand the other side, just to even things out, but I don’t.

You’re not in charge here.

I am, remember?

Remember.

So instead I hoist you out of that chair you’re still bloody sitting in and I pin you against the wall. All you can see out of those flimsy frames is me surrounding you, encompassing your body.

You squirm, and my, doesn’t that feel nice, a little bit of resistance? I tuck my forearm under your chin and you still, pliant once again.

“Going to fuck you in your office, Potter.” I lean close into your ear, biting on your lobe and you buck against me, so I do it again. “Stay quiet, wouldn’t want your assistant to hear how pretty you beg.”

I’ve still got my arm pressed up against your throat, but I can feel it vibrate, as if you’re stifling a moan. You’re already gagging for it, and we haven’t even started.

While I’ve got you so nicely pinned, I consider my options. I could take you against the wall, your hands knotted above your head, your ankles jostling against my ears. That chair has wheels — could prove useful if I bend you over the backrest and take you from behind.

No.

I think I’ll fuck you on top of those papers, the ones that stole your attention from me when I first came in.

See if you can wave away the evidence of your filthy pleasure as easily as you did a splash of ink.

I shift my arm away from your throat and you breathe, finally, in and out. Once, twice, before I hook my finger into the side of your mouth. I yank, hard, forcing you away from the wall. Just enough so I can push you down onto your hard wooden desk, and _yes_. This is perfect. You knock over your ink pot as you grapple at the edges, and the black stain smears across your hand, onto your chest. A curved line down your forearm, and it looks so familiar I can practically see the fangs jutting out of a snakes mouth.

Now we’re both a fucking filthy mess.

I shove two fingers into your gaping mouth, the one that’s still open in surprise at finding yourself on your back, on your desk, in your office while your minions scurry around outside.

My patience is gone. Well, it was nice while it lasted.

You suck on my fingers like a good boy, and then gasp when I cast three entirely unwholesome spells one after the other, the ones that strip you, and open you, and slick you up, the ones that allow me to drive right in to your hot core and take you like the needy little slut you are.

And that’s exactly what I do. Your teeth bite down on my fingers as I press your knees up to your shoulders. I slide my way into your arse, making no effort to slow, not letting you adjust to the feel of my cock.

You’re still biting down, hard, when I’m fully seated, filling you up. I yank my fingers out of your mouth and slap you again, punishment for hurting me, reward for taking me, and then I push down on your head so that your cheek presses against the pooling ink seeping into your parchment.

I’m pounding into you, and Merlin, you’re taking it, groaning as quietly as you can, eyes closed, mouth panting. You’ve got one hand clutching at my thigh and another one grasping the edge of the desk, white-knuckled, and your glasses are bent from the pressure of it all.

You’re beautiful.

I tell you that. Not with my mouth, of course, but with my hands, roaming up and down your waist, threading through your hair. I let your ankles rest against my shoulder, and soon the only thing I can hear is the sound of skin against skin, whispered whines and the slap of my bollocks against your perfect arse.

My fingers wrap around your throat, my other hand braces on the desk, and now my skin is coated with black, sticky and wet, and it’s perfect. I wrap it around your cock, coating it, pulling it, twisting along the head.

You can’t help it now, can you? Your moans are filling up your office and I’m torn. I want to shove my thumb in your mouth, give you something to suck on while I ram into you, but the sounds you’re making... I could listen to them all day.

Your ankles drop from my shoulders and wrap around my hips, and _yes,_ I’m so incredibly deep now. All I can feel is you on my back, around my cock.

“Oh, fuck, Malfoy,” you whine, and I shudder. My name sounds wonderful on your tongue again, and I want more.

I slam into you, over and over, and the _“oh, yes, Gods,”_ spill from your mouth like water, but I want to hear my name again.

 _Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy,_ repeats in my head, the way your lips purse as you say it, how your eyebrows scrunch. _Malfoy, Malfoy -_

“Potter,” I grunt, and fuck, I’m coming. I’m coming, and your name is on my lips and the way that you’re looking at me through those blasted frames is just too much. I fall forward, tucking my head into your neck as my cock spasms in your arse, and this time, this time, Potter—

This time it’s all too much, and not nearly enough.

My cock’s spent, and my come is dripping out of your hole, but I’m still hard so I keep ramming into you, over and over, your cock trapped between our stomachs, slick with ink. My mouth is so close to your throat, and I drag my tongue down the expanse of it before taking your soft skin in between my teeth.

I bite down and you come, hot and bucking up as much as you can, your ankles pushing onto my shoulders for leverage, and out of that pretty little mouth of yours comes a moan.

_“Draco.”_

My heart pounds and I feel that urge, the one that tells me to run, to hide. The one that says I’m worthless and useless and a failure and a disgrace. The voice I hear when I look at my father or dare to glance at the Mark on my arm.

But your ankles cross over my back and your hands clasp my arse, and you hold me there while you pant into my shoulder.

“ _Draco, Draco, oh gods yes, Draco.”_

There’s no use fighting anymore. I let my head drop and my body melt into yours, and for the first time I allow myself to respond.

_“Harry.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!!! I ~~hate~~ love all of you for reading and commenting and ~~fuck you~~ appreciate all of your wonderful notes and kudos!!! ~~you sodding better rec this fucking thing to all your~~ Draco, stop writing the notes, and go fuck Harry again, will you? 
> 
> He does. [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932898) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830370/chapters/42071534) if you want more! (and don't we always want more?)
> 
> All credit for the ink on Harry's forearm goes to the amazing diligent-thunder, beta extraordinare and writing genius. Check out their work [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LGray/pseuds/Elle%20Gray)

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr! [keyflight790](https://keyflight790.tumblr.com/)


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